


By the Old Gods

by PrettyPoppy



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Post-War, Romance, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:51:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18422253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyPoppy/pseuds/PrettyPoppy
Summary: After discovering that their marriage is still valid, Sansa and Tyrion renew their vows in the godswood.





	1. Sansa of House Stark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatMorgan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatMorgan/gifts), [VickSaturn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickSaturn/gifts).



> Although this story is technically a companion piece to “Into the Long Night,” it was written as a standalone and can be read without any knowledge of the fic that inspired it. For those who have read “Into the Long Night,” this story takes place between Chapter 44 and the epilogue. When complete, this fic will have five chapters. I will post them as I finish editing them.
> 
> This story is dedicated with much love and appreciation to KatMorgan and VickSaturn. While commenting on “Into the Long Night,” they both suggested that Sansa and Tyrion should renew their vows in the godswood. Without them, this story would simply not exist.

Sansa Stark stood in front of the lone mirror in her bedchamber, catching one last look at her reflection before she was to make her way to the godswood to marry Tyrion Lannister.  Her heart fluttered nervously, but she knew there was no reason to be nervous.  She had married Tyrion once before, in the Great Sept of Baelor in King’s Landing.  She had been nervous then, but circumstances had been very different.  She’d been heading off into the unknown, to marry the enemy.  But now, she was on her way to the godswood to marry the man she loved, and her heart fluttered for a very different reason. 

A fortnight earlier, Sansa and Tyrion had been left alone at Winterfell while everyone else they loved had gone off to fight the White Walkers and the Night King.  In the hours they had spent alone, something had blossomed between them, and Tyrion had ended up in her bed.  The next morning, they had both been surprised to discover that, according to Samwell Tarly at least, their first marriage had never been properly annulled and they were still very much wed.  Had they learned the truth just a few hours earlier, their marriage would never have been consummated and they might have gone their separate ways.  But they had learned the truth too late, and Sansa couldn’t even pretend to be sorry.

She loved Tyrion with all her heart.  He was kind and gentle and trustworthy.  Clever, witty, and brave.  He never failed to make her laugh or to touch her heart.  And when they were alone together in her bed, everything he did left her breathless.  He was a wonderful husband, and had she been about to take her vows with the most dashing knight in all the land, she didn’t think she could have been happier or more nervous.

Although they were still married in the Faith of the Seven, Jon had suggested that Sansa and Tyrion also take their vows in the godswood, just so there would be no doubt about the validity of their union.  Sansa had taken vows in the godswood once before, beside Ramsay Bolton, and at first, she had been reluctant to agree to Jon’s request.  But a few soft words from Tyrion and she had changed her mind.  She was a northern woman, and she deserved to marry the man she loved before the old gods.  She would not let Ramsay Bolton take that away from her, not even in death.

And so now, she was preparing to join Tyrion and the rest of her family beneath the heart tree for a private ceremony to reaffirm her commitment to her husband.  In another fortnight, there would be a second wedding at Winterfell, between Jon and Daenerys.  But tonight was Sansa and Tyrion’s night, and she was determined to enjoy every moment of it.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Sansa pulled her eyes away from the glass.  “Who is it?” she asked tremulously, fearing that it might be Tyrion.  Even though they were already married, she didn’t want him to see her until she came to him in the godswood.  She had donned a stunning gown of snow-white brocade, a matching maiden’s cloak emblazoned with the Stark sigil draped across her shoulders.  Although she was no longer a maid, Sansa had no desire to break with the traditions of the old gods and so had worn the cloak just the same.  She’d had her maidservant arrange her hair in an elaborate coiffure, woven through with white ribbons, the snowy silk standing out in stark contrast against her fiery tresses.  She wanted to cherish the moment Tyrion first caught sight of her in the godswood.  She didn’t want him to see her before the ceremony.

“It’s Arya.”

Sansa exhaled a relieved sigh, though she felt just as much disappointment as relief.  She hadn’t seen Tyrion since early that morning, and she was already longing for his company again.

“Come in,” Sansa replied.

The door opened, and Arya stepped inside, her eyes traveling up and down the length of her sister in bold assessment.  She let out a long, low whistle.  “All that for the Imp?” she asked, closing the door behind her.

“Must you call him that?”

“Well, he is, isn’t he?  Or do we not call him that anymore because he shares your bed now?”

“We don’t call him that anymore because he is the Lord of Winterfell.  You would be wise to remember that.”

Arya smirked as if she found Sansa’s threat utterly laughable.  She clasped her hands behind her back and ambled into the room, walking a long, slow circle around Sansa, idly examining her as she moved.  When she was finally in front of Sansa again, she stopped and turned to face her.  “Do you really love him?” she asked.

“Yes, I do.  More than you could ever know.”

Arya’s brow furrowed.  “But why?  Simply because he can please you in bed?”

“No, not at all.”

“So he can’t please you in bed?  But I thought—”

“Yes, he does,” Sansa said, her cheeks flushing warmly, “but that isn’t why I love him.  He’s a good man, Arya.  As good and true as Father or Robb or Jon.  If he weren’t, I would never have taken him to my bed in the first place, and I would never have allowed him to have Winterfell.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t just bewitched you?  They say he has a silver tongue.  I’m sure he could talk a silent sister into breaking her vows.  How do you know he hasn’t just besotted you?”

Sansa shook her head.  “Because I know him, better than you can possibly imagine.  He was kind to me in King’s Landing.  He was patient and understanding, and he never demanded anything of me that I wasn’t willing to give.  He’s the only man I’ve ever known, beyond our own Stark men, who didn’t try to use me or manipulate me.  I trust him, and that means more to me than anything.”

Arya nodded thoughtfully.  “I see you’ve matured more than I thought.  I’m glad.  I’ve wanted to see you happy for so long.  I’m glad that you’ve finally found that with Tyrion.  No one deserves it more.”

Sansa moved forward, reaching for Arya and pulling her into her arms to hug her tightly.  She was deeply grateful for her sister’s love and approval.  Arya had been wary of Tyrion since the day he had returned to Winterfell, and it was a great relief to know that she approved of him and that he and Sansa had her blessing.

“Thank you, Arya,” Sansa said, her voice trembling with emotion.  “Thank you for loving me and for understanding.”

Arya hugged Sansa back just as tightly.  “Of course, I love you.  And of course, I understand.  I just want you to be happy, Sansa.  As happy as Mother and Father were.”

“And I am, Arya.  I’m happier than you can imagine.  I swear it.”

“Good.”

Arya pulled back then, and Sansa was forced to let her go.

Arya’s eyes skimmed down the front of Sansa’s gown.  “I think I’ve wrinkled your dress.”

Sansa looked down.  Her gown was indeed wrinkled, but the damage wasn’t permanent.  The brocade she had chosen was very forgiving.  She quickly fluffed out her skirt, and in an instant, the gown was perfectly smooth again.  “No harm done,” she said as she looked back up at Arya.

“Well, in that case, I suppose we should be on our way then.”  Arya turned to leave, but Sansa stopped her.

“Arya, one more thing.”

Arya halted, slowly turning around to face her sister again.  “Please, don’t tell me that you need advice about what to do on your wedding night.  If Lord Tyrion hasn’t been able to teach you yet, I certainly can’t.”

Sansa almost laughed.  Even though Arya was quite worldly, they both knew Sansa had a lot more experience in that regard than Arya did.  In fact, as far as Sansa knew, Arya didn’t have any experience in that regard at all. 

“No, it isn’t that,” Sansa said.  “You’ve given me and Tyrion your blessing.  When are you going to do the same for Jon and Daenerys?”

Arya’s eyes darkened, though the change was so subtle that Sansa almost missed it.  “I’ll give Jon my blessing when he finds a bride who isn’t his aunt.”

Sansa shook her head.  “You know it can’t be helped.  She’s already carrying his child.  Don’t you think it’s best just to accept it?  For everyone’s sake?”

“I have heard that people in love tend to want everyone else to be in love as well.  You want Jon and Daenerys to be just as happy as you and Tyrion are, don’t you?”

“I do.  Jon deserves it just as much as I do.  Even if you don’t care for Daenerys, you must admit that.”

“I will admit nothing.”

“But you know it in your heart.”

Arya didn’t reply, but Sansa hoped that her words had meant something to her anyway.  Arya loved Jon more than she loved anyone else in the world, and she wanted him to be happy.  She wouldn’t deny Jon his happiness forever.  Perhaps it would take some time, but Sansa was certain that, eventually, Arya would give Jon and Daenerys her blessing. 

“Is there something else you want,” Arya asked, “or may I go?”

“You may not go.”

Arya arched a brow in question.  “And why not?”

“Because,” Sansa said, unable to keep the smile from her lips, “we should go together.”

Arya took several steps back and opened the door for Sansa.  She bowed like a gentleman and said, “Right this way, my lady.”

Sansa wanted to argue that Arya was every bit the lady that she was, but she knew now was not the time or place.  She pulled back her shoulders, held her head high, and walked through the door, Arya right behind her, and together, they headed toward the godswood.


	2. Tyrion of House Lannister

“Why in the seven hells are you so bloody nervous?  You’re worse than a maid on her wedding night.”

Tyrion glared at Ser Bronn, not the least bit thankful for the commentary.  Tyrion’s hands were shaking, and his mouth had gone dry.  He was trying to make himself as presentable as possible before leaving his chamber and heading to the godswood.  He was already late.  Every time he looked in the mirror, he feared he wasn’t handsome enough to meet his bride, and he fidgeted with his clothes again.

“Do you think I should change?” he asked.  “Lannister red may not be the color I want to wear when taking a northern bride.”

“You’ve already taken her,” Bronn replied, rolling his eyes as he leaned against the wardrobe beside the door.  “From what I hear, that’s all you’ve done for the past two weeks.”

Tyrion refused to honor that with a reply.  He turned his eyes back toward the mirror and started pulling at the hem of his doublet, making sure that it fit just right.

Bronn had returned from battle with the very last of the northern men, and Tyrion had been beyond relieved.  He had lost a lot in the war, almost everything, and he hadn’t wanted to lose anything more.  His brother and sister were both gone now, and he was thankful he had Sansa by his side to help him put the pieces of his life back together.  She had been wonderfully supportive as she’d stood by him and helped him through his grief.  Even though he’d been mourning her enemies, she had still been there for him, and he would always love her for it. 

Tyrion’s only regret was that Jaime had not lived long enough to see this day.  He loved his brother, and he missed him terribly, and sometimes, the grief overwhelmed him even with Sansa by his side.

“What is it now?” Bronn asked, breaking through Tyrion’s thoughts.

“What?”  Tyrion looked up at Bronn again, almost surprised to see him standing there.

Bronn pushed himself away from the wardrobe, finally standing upright.  “You’ve gone from nervous to melancholy in a heartbeat.  What are you thinking now?”

Tyrion sighed heavily, trying not to let his grief overwhelm him.  “Just that I wish Jaime were here.  He wasn’t there the first time I married Sansa, and now . . .”  Tyrion shook his head.  He couldn’t finish.  “I just wish things were different.”

“You’ve got a beautiful wife you’ve pretty much been fucking nonstop for the past fortnight, you’re the Lord of Winterfell, and now that your family’s gone, the richest man in all of Westeros.  So you lost your brother,” Bronn said with a shrug.  “He died a hero’s death.  You should be happy for him.”

Tyrion opened his mouth to speak but struggled to find the words.  “I . . . I am, I suppose.  I mean they’ll be singing songs about him for generations to come.  But that doesn’t change the fact that I wish he were here, that I wish he could share in my happiness.  That’s all.”

A slow smile crept across Bronn’s lips.  “Share in your happiness?  What?  Would you let him have a go at that pretty little wife of yours?”

“No, of course not.  You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Can I have a go at her?”

The earnestness in Bronn’s voice was almost Tyrion’s undoing.  “No, you cannot have a go at my wife.”

“More’s the pity,” Bronn said with a regretful sigh.  “‘Course, I’ll never quite understand what she sees in you.  A morose little dwarf who spends all his free time complaining about how unfair his life is.  Surprised she hasn’t grown tired of that yet.”

“And I doubt she will.  I have ways of keeping her entertained that completely overshadow such shortcomings.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard, but I can only imagine your tricks work because you’re the only real man she’s ever had in her bed.  If she had more experience, I’m sure she’d find your skills quite lacking.”

“Is this why you came here?  To insult me?”

“No, I came here to wish you good luck.  It’s your wedding day, after all, and I’m happy to see you going into it more willingly than the last time.”

“Yes, well, a lot has changed since the last time.”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

There was a knock at the door, and Tyrion’s heart thudded against his ribs.  He was very late now, and he could only imagine who had come to fetch him.  “Who is it?” he called across the room.

“Your king.”

Tyrion exhaled a relieved sigh.

“I suppose I should get that,” Bronn said, and before Tyrion could reply, Bronn took a few steps back and opened the door.

Jon stepped into the room, his eyes instantly finding Tyrion.  He was alone, for which Tyrion was grateful.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion said with a perfunctory nod.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’ve come to fetch you for your wedding.  You will not keep my sister waiting.”

Although Sansa was not, in fact, Jon’s sister, he refused to call her anything else.  They were still blood, and they had still grown up as siblings, and he would not think of her, Arya, or Bran in any other way. 

“I would never dream of it,” Tyrion replied.  “I was just making sure that I was presentable before, well, presenting myself.”

“He was primping like an adolescent girl,” Bronn supplied.  “He’s as nervous as a septa in a brothel.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Jon’s lips, and Tyrion could tell he was fighting the urge to laugh. 

“Ser Bronn,” Jon said, turning to address him, “would you mind giving us a private moment?  There’s something I want to say to Lord Tyrion before we head to the godswood.”

“Of course, . . . Your Grace.” 

Tyrion knew it was going to take a long time before Bronn was completely comfortable calling Jon Snow _Your Grace_ , but he’d get used to it, just as they all would. 

Before leaving, Bronn paused just long enough to give Tyrion a pointed look.  “I know you’re nervous and all, this being your third wedding, but don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be gentle.” 

Tyrion could have strangled Bronn for making such a comment, particularly in front of Jon, but he bit his tongue, knowing it was best to just let Bronn have the last word. 

Bronn didn’t wait for a reply.  He simply turned around and headed toward the hallway, closing the door behind him, leaving Tyrion alone with Jon.

The silence was deafening.  Tyrion was already nervous about heading into the godswood to marry Sansa for a second time.  Now, he was alone in a room with her oldest living male relative, and he wondered exactly what he was in for.  He liked Jon a great deal, but he feared he was about to be lectured the way a father lectured his daughter’s suitors.

It was Jon who finally broke the silence.  “So are you really as nervous as Ser Bronn says you are?”

Tyrion laughed, the sound getting stuck halfway down his throat.  “Nervous?  Me?  Of course not.  What is there to be nervous about?  I’m just marrying the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros.  Why should I be nervous?”

“But you’re already married to her.”

“Yes, exactly,” Tyrion said, his voice trembling with the effort.

Jon fought back another laugh.  “You know, I never expected you and Sansa to . . .” he paused as if searching for the right words, “to be such amiable companions.  It says a great deal for your character that my sister is so comfortable with you.  She’s not a very trusting soul, for obvious reasons, but you, it seems, have somehow been able to overcome her defenses.”

“Patience, Your Grace.  Nothing more than patience.  Well, and a little bit of charm.”

Jon smiled.  “I think it’s a bit more than that.”

“You mean my dashing good looks?”  Tyrion smoothed down the front of his doublet in a show of mock pride.  “Sansa has always been attracted to handsome men.  How could she possibly resist me?”

Jon shook his head.  “You’re never going to stop putting yourself down, are you?”

“No, I can’t say that I ever will.  It’s too deeply ingrained in me.  I can’t stop now.”

“Even though Sansa adores you?”

“I fear the poor girl may have gone blind, actually.  She seems to think me handsome for some reason.  Perhaps it’s all this cold, northern air,” Tyrion said, shivering for effect.  “I think it’s gone to her head.”

Jon stared at Tyrion for a moment, his expression finally sobering.  “All joking aside, I’ve come to tell you that you and Sansa have my blessing.”

“I don’t think we actually need your blessing,” Tyrion replied.  “We’re already married.”

“That may be true, but it’s important to me that you know that I wholeheartedly approve of this union.”

“Do you?” Tyrion asked, raising a brow in question.

“Sansa has suffered a great deal.  More than any of us, really.”

“You were murdered by your brothers of the Night’s Watch.  I would say you could fight for that title yourself.”

“No,” Jon said, shaking his head.  “I was attacked by the brothers of the Night’s Watch because I did what I thought was right and they felt I had betrayed them.  I died doing what I believed in, and even though it was painful and frightening, there was no dishonor in it, no shame, at least not for me.  But Sansa still feels shame and anger and fear even though her tormenter is long dead.  She blames herself, I know she does, for letting Littlefinger manipulate her and not seeing the truth before it was too late.  While I have gotten past what happened at Castle Black, Sansa still suffers every day, so I assure you, Lord Tyrion, that my sister has had the worst of all of it.”

Tyrion stared up at Jon, trying to keep his emotions under control.  He hated to think that what Jon had said was true, but he knew it was.  Sansa put on a brave front, she was strong and proud and resilient on the outside, but on the inside, she was a battered and frightened little girl, and he would be wise to remember that.  Behind her kind smiles and warm laughter, there was still pain in her heart, and he would do all he could to help her heal it.

“I fear you are right,” Tyrion said, his voice little more than a whisper.  “I promise you, I will do everything in my power to protect her.  Sansa is the most extraordinary woman I have ever known, and I will never let anyone hurt her again.”

“I know.”

Two simple words, _I know_ , but they said so very much.  Jon trusted him, trusted him to protect Sansa, trusted him to love her and care for her and never betray her.  Tyrion’s heart swelled with pride, and had he been a taller man, he might have tried to hug his new king.  Jon’s confidence in him meant the world to Tyrion, and he would never betray it.

“You honor me, Your Grace.”

“Jon, Tyrion, please.  Although I am now your king, we are still friends, and more than that, family.  Let us not stand on formality.”

A wry smile quirked Tyrion’s lips.  “Of course, Jon.”

Jon looked like he wanted to embrace him too, but to do so, he’d have to bend a knee, and there was no way that was going to happen.  So instead, he looked around the room awkwardly, as if to make sure that Tyrion had everything he needed for the wedding.  “Are you ready?” Jon asked as his eyes finally settled on Tyrion again.

Tyrion shook his head.  “No, I can’t say that I am.”

Jon laughed.  “You don’t need to be so nervous.  There are only family and friends waiting for us in the godswood, that’s all.  It will be a quiet, private ceremony.”

“Family.”  The word tasted like ashes in Tyrion’s mouth.  In an instant, he remembered all he had so recently lost.

Jon took a step forward, placing a comforting hand on Tyrion’s shoulder.  “I know you’ve lost a great deal, but you’re not alone.  You may have lost your brother and your sister, but that doesn’t mean you are without family.  The Starks are your family now.  Daenerys is your family.  In a fortnight, she will be your sister-in-law.”

Tyrion was tempted to correct Jon on that score.  Daenerys would be his cousin-in-law, not his sister-in-law, but he knew Jon would hear none of it, so he stayed silent on the matter. 

Jon continued, “And now, Tyrion Lannister, you are my brother as well.  And I couldn’t think of a better match for Sansa in all of Westeros.”

Tyrion snorted, the sound half laugh, half sob.  Despite how absurd it all sounded, Jon’s words had moved him.  It was astounding to think that he, Tyrion Lannister, was now the Lord of Winterfell and being called kin to the Starks.  It was an amazing turn of events, and Tyrion cherished every last bit of it. 

Tyrion wanted to say something clever and witty.  He wanted to joke about Jon’s ability to find Sansa a more deserving husband, to suggest that if he could not find one in Westeros, perhaps he should look across the Narrow Sea.  But Tyrion didn’t even attempt to make a joke.  The moment was simply too precious to ruin.  Instead, the only words that passed his lips were, “Thank you, Jon.”

Jon squeezed Tyrion’s shoulder and let him go, taking a step back.  “The hour grows late, and we don’t want to keep my sister waiting.  Will you join me?”

“Of course.”  Tyrion absently pulled down on the front of his doublet again, shoring himself up to meet his waiting bride.  He followed Jon out into the corridor, and together, they headed toward the godswood.

 


	3. One Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only example of a wedding before the old gods shown on the series is Sansa and Ramsay’s wedding in Season 5. That scene ends with Sansa saying, “I take this man.” For the rest of the ceremony, I had to reference the one example of such a union in the books, Ramsay and Jeyne Poole’s godswood wedding in “A Dance with Dragons.”

Sansa approached the godswood with Arya by her side.  It was twilight, and the sky around them was a deep royal blue, studded with twinkling stars.  In the distance, Sansa saw the leaves of the heart tree glimmering with its own lights as if all the spirits in the forest had come out to bless her union to Tyrion.

She stared in wonderment as she moved closer, charmed by the tiny golden flames flickering among the frosted red leaves.  “The lights, what are they?” she asked, the words a whisper on her lips.

“Lantern lights,” Arya answered.  “It was Lady Brienne’s idea.  She thought you would find it enchanting.”

And it was enchanting.  More enchanting than Sansa could have imagined.  Even if she’d had months to plan her wedding, she would never have thought to hang lantern lights from the weirwood tree.  It was beautiful, like something from a fairy story.

“I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” Sansa said.

“It was all Brienne and Podrick.  They hung all the lanterns themselves.”

“Podrick?”  Sansa finally glanced down at her sister.

“Yes, Brienne’s squire.  He used to be Lord Tyrion’s squire.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“I think Lady Brienne did it for love of you, and Podrick did it for love of Tyrion.”

Sansa was touched by the gesture.  Although her wedding would not be an extravagant one, at least Brienne and Podrick had made sure that it would be a magical one.

Sansa smiled to herself, then turned her attention back toward the snowy path in front of her.  Her heart was fluttering with anticipation, and she was eager to reach the heart tree as quickly as she could.

It wasn’t long before she and Arya rounded the path that led to the ancient weirwood and Sansa caught her first sight of Tyrion standing beneath its bloodred leaves.  He was dressed in a Lannister red tunic that reminded her very much of the one he had worn on their first wedding day.  She was glad that he had chosen that color.  Although he was the Lord of Winterfell now, he was also the Lord of Casterly Rock, and it was important that everyone knew just how powerful he was.  Her little lion, so cunning and so brave.

Sansa’s smile broadened.  On her first wedding day, she could never have imagined feeling such an overpowering sense of love for Tyrion, but now, her heart felt as if it might burst.  She loved him so desperately.  She wished her father had lived long enough to see this day.  He had once promised to make her a match with a man who was brave and gentle and strong, and Tyrion was all those things and more.  Even though Tyrion was a Lannister, she was sure that her father would be relieved to see her in such loving, capable hands, especially after all she’d suffered.

A few more steps and Tyrion’s eyes were finally upon her.  Sansa’s breath hitched in her throat as he caught his first glimpse of her in all her bridal glory.  There was still a considerable distance between them, but she could already see the love and admiration in his eyes.  He was waiting for her with such joy, such pride.  He was so different from the man who had waited for her on the altar at the Great Sept of Baelor.  When they’d been married back in King’s Landing, Tyrion had looked pained throughout the entire ceremony, and he’d been drunk through most of the wedding feast.  But now, he looked hopeful, happy, expectant, and oh so very much in love.

As Sansa and Arya neared the heart tree, Jon stepped forward, falling into step a few paces in front of them.  Jon was Sansa’s oldest living male relative, and as such, it fell to him to give her to her new husband.  By rights, the privilege should have been reserved for her father, but as he had not lived long enough to see this day, the duty fell to Jon. 

Even though it was solely Jon’s responsibility to give Sansa away, Arya remained by her side, leading her up the path as well, House Stark presenting a unified front.

Sansa had expected to feel some apprehension walking this familiar path in the godswood.  She had expected to be plagued by memories of the night she had so foolishly pledged herself to another.  But she wasn’t.  All she could see, all she could think about, was Tyrion standing patiently before her, waiting to take her as his wife.  And all she could feel was her love for him.  That love was stronger than any nightmare, and it chased away her demons like Lightbringer had chased away the darkness.

Finally, they reached the heart tree, and Jon stopped a few feet in front of Sansa, as was the custom. 

Daenerys stood beside Tyrion.  As both his brother and father were gone, she had been chosen to speak for him.  She was his queen, and there was no one who had more right to speak on his behalf.

Although Sansa had been wary of Daenerys when she’d first arrived at Winterfell, the war had changed her opinion of the Targaryen queen considerably.  Daenerys had risked a great deal to save Westeros, and now that the war was over, she had agreed to share her power with Jon.  There would be no more war, no more death or destruction, just Jon and Daenerys sharing the throne and ruling Westeros in peace.  Even though it was not the conclusion that Sansa had once hoped for, she had once hoped that Jon would retain all his newfound power for himself, it was a compromise she was more than willing to live with, for Jon’s sake and the sake of the Seven Kingdoms.

Daenerys stepped forward with all the grace and dignity of a queen.  She looked directly at Jon as she asked, “Who comes before the old gods this night?”

Jon answered, “Sansa of the House Stark comes here to be wed.  A woman grown, trueborn and noble.  She comes to beg the blessings of the gods.  Who comes to claim her?”

Sansa’s heart fluttered again as Tyrion finally stepped forward, stopping beside his queen.  He looked so solemn, so grave, but not the least bit sorrowful.  No, he looked as if he understood just how sacred this moment was, and he was in awe of it.  He had come before the old gods, before Sansa’s gods, to ask for her hand with humility and reverence, and Sansa loved him all the more for it.

His eyes never leaving hers, Tyrion replied, “Tyrion of House Lannister, Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock.  Who gives her?”

There was a pause as Jon prepared his answer.  Sansa knew it was difficult for him to present himself by his birth name, but they had come before the gods begging a blessing, and he had to speak the truth as they all now knew it. 

His voice strong, despite his reservations, he replied, “Aegon of the Houses Targaryen and Stark, Sixth of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Sansa glanced at Daenerys, waiting in breathless anticipation for the question she knew was to come next, the question she was so desperate to answer.  Daenerys was still looking at Jon, a small smile on her lips that Sansa knew was meant for him alone.  It was an intimate gesture, one that said a great deal about the affection Jon and Daenerys had for each other.  Sansa hoped it boded well for their future.  She wanted Jon and Daenerys to be happy, just as happy as she and Tyrion were.

A heartbeat later, Daenerys’ gaze moved to Sansa, and she finally asked the question Sansa had been waiting to hear.  “Lady Sansa, will you take this man?”

Sansa stepped forward, her eyes once again on Tyrion.  Without a moment’s hesitation, she said, “I take this man.”

Tyrion’s somber expression instantly vanished, replaced with a look of pure joy.  His happiness was infectious, and Sansa found herself smiling back at him, unable to keep a stern countenance a moment longer.  She had never been happier, and she didn’t care who knew it.

Tyrion closed the space between them and reached for her hand.  As she slipped her fingers around his, she realized for the first time that they were both trembling. 

Without a word, Tyrion turned and led her closer to the heart tree, helping her kneel in the snow at its base so they could both bow their heads in prayer.  Once she was settled, Tyrion joined her, and together, they silently prayed to the gods for their blessings.

But Sansa didn’t just pray to the gods, she prayed to her family as well, to her mother and father and all the Starks who had come before her.  She prayed for their blessings and their approval.  She prayed that they would look kindly upon the new Lord of Winterfell and accept him as one of their own.  Even though her parents had never cared for Tyrion while they’d lived, she hoped that now, wherever they were, they were looking down upon him with kindness and acceptance, overjoyed by the love he and Sansa felt for each other.

After a few quiet moments of prayer, Tyrion rose, but Sansa continued to kneel.  He removed the maiden’s cloak from her shoulders and handed it to Jon.  Then, he took another cloak, one of deep Lannister red, emblazoned with a golden lion, and draped it over her shoulders. 

A sob escaped Sansa’s throat as the cloth folded around her.  She remembered all too well the first time Tyrion had cloaked her under his protection.  She had stood beside him, still and silent, on the altar of the Great Sept of Baelor, as he’d struggled to figure out how to cloak her when she stood more than a foot taller than him.  She’d been such a selfish girl then, so absorbed in her own misery that she hadn’t even noticed his dilemma.  She had knelt for him, of course, but only after he’d asked her to.  Now, she wished she had been kinder to him, wished she had knelt of her own accord, and had saved him the embarrassment of having to beseech his bride to kneel before him in front of the entire court.

But Sansa could not change the past.  All she could do was move forward.  She would spend the rest of her life being kind to Tyrion, loving him the way he deserved to be loved, caring for him as she had cared for no other.  He was her world now, the husband of her dreams, and she would spend the rest of her life loving him just as he loved her.

The cloaking done, Tyrion offered her his hand again, and Sansa took it gladly.  When their eyes met, she saw nothing but love and happiness in his gaze.  Tyrion loved her with all his heart, and it was as clear as the moon and stars above.

Tyrion smiled, squeezing her hand as he helped her to her feet.  It was done.  They were one now, by the old gods and the new, and no one would ever tear them asunder again.

Tyrion cleared his throat awkwardly.  “I realize that this is the part where I’m supposed to gather you up in my arms and carry you to the wedding feast, but I fear I am ill-equipped for such an effort.”

Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a single word, Ser Bronn leaned over Tyrion’s shoulder and said, “She could always carry you.”

The guests laughed, but Tyrion’s cheeks darkened just a little, and Sansa squeezed his hand, letting him know that he wasn’t alone and that Ser Bronn’s words meant nothing to her. 

In a soft voice, her eyes never leaving Tyrion’s, she said, “I think I would like to walk to the Great Keep hand in hand, my lord, if it’s all the same to you.”

Tyrion smiled at her, and she smiled back, the awkwardness of the moment dissolving in an instant. 

“I have no objection to that,” he said.

And even though the ceremony was over, their union sealed the moment he’d draped the bride’s cloak over her shoulders, Sansa leaned down and kissed him with all the love and joy she felt in her heart.

Suddenly, the godswood was alive with applause, and Sansa broke away just in time to find her family gathering around them, eager to offer their congratulations.

Jon stepped forward and pulled Sansa into his arms, hugging her tightly.  “Oh, my dear Sansa.  I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around him and held him close, silently thanking him for all he had done for her, for his understanding, for his patience, for his forgiveness.  She had not always been a kind sister to him, but he loved her just the same, and it meant the world to her.

When Jon pulled away, he turned his attention to Tyrion, giving him his hand.  “You have married my sister twice now.  You must be the luckiest man in all of Westeros.”

“And don’t I know it.”

Tyrion shook Jon’s hand before letting it go, and as soon as Jon stepped away, they were surrounded by more well-wishers.  Arya and Brienne were instantly at Sansa’s side, hugging her and making her feel accepted and loved.  Daenerys offered Tyrion her regards, and Ser Bronn offered his by saying something quite colorful that Sansa wasn’t sure she was meant to hear. 

It was a joyous moment for the Starks of Winterfell, and Sansa hoped it was just the first of many.  It had been a long time since there had been laughter in the godswood.  Sansa was glad that it was Tyrion who had brought joy back to Winterfell, who had saved her from the darkness that had plagued her for so long.  Now, when she walked through the godswood, she would no longer think of Ramsay Bolton and the night she had given herself away to him.  No, she would think of this moment, of the love and hope in Tyrion’s eyes, and the happiness their union had brought to Winterfell.


	4. One Heart

The wedding feast was a private affair held in Sansa’s solar immediately after the ceremony.  There was no fanfare, no entertainment, just family and friends gathered around the long table, breaking bread and drinking wine.  The one and only extravagance that had been spared for the feast were the small cakes that had been made from the last of the lemons in the glass garden.  Tyrion knew how much Sansa loved lemon cakes, and so he had insisted upon having them for the feast.

Tyrion and Sansa sat beside each other at the center of the long table, while Jon and Daenerys sat at either end.  Tyrion was more than happy with the arrangement, as he had no desire to be separated from his wife, not even by the length of the banquet table. 

Although they were enjoying their meal and the company around them, Tyrion was ever conscious of Sansa’s presence beside him.  More than once he felt her hand on his knee, her fingers gliding along his leg, silently promising wonderful things to come.  Although Tyrion was enjoying dinner immensely, he wanted nothing more than to finally be alone with his new bride.

As Tyrion reached beneath the table to cover Sansa’s hand with his own, Bronn leaned over from the chair beside him and said, “Hands where we can see them.  You may be a lecherous old drunk, but this isn’t a brothel.  There are ladies present.”

Tyrion almost laughed.  He quickly pulled his hand from beneath the table and looked up at Bronn.  “And since when have you cared if there were ladies present?”

“Since I became a knight,” Bronn said with something akin to pride, and Tyrion was surprised to discover that his old friend wasn’t being entirely facetious. 

“Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.  I can only imagine what you’re going to be like if you ever get that castle my brother promised you.”

Tyrion was sorry the instant he said it.  He’d done everything in his power to push the recent tragedies in his life to the back of his mind in order to make this day everything Sansa deserved it to be.  But now, he’d gone and spoiled it, his heart suddenly heavy with grief. 

Tyrion turned away to reach for his glass, hoping to drown his pain in some wine, but Bronn wouldn’t let him wallow in self-pity for long.  He replied to Tyrion with the same quick-wittedness that Tyrion had long come to expect from him.  “Since your brother is no longer here to make good on that promise, and you are his only heir, that means the debt is now yours.  You owe me a castle, and I expect payment sooner rather than later.”

Tyrion nearly choked on his wine.  He lowered his cup and looked up at Bronn again.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, trust me.  I am.”

“And how, pray tell, do you expect me to get you a castle?”

Bronn shrugged.  “You’ve already got two—”

“I’m not giving you Casterly Rock or Winterfell,” Tyrion said, cutting him off before he could finish the thought, “so you can get that idea out of your head right now.”

“Well, you’ll think of something.  You are the cleverest man in Westeros, aren’t you?”

“If I am, it’s not saying much.  Half the population of Westeros is dead now.  The competition’s pretty slim.”

“Do you think I give a fuck?  Just get me a castle one way or another.  It’s your debt now, and—”

“And a Lannister always pays his debts.  Yes, I know.”

Tyrion turned away from Bronn, refusing to say another word on the matter.  Bronn was right, of course.  After everything he’d done for the Lannisters, he was owed something.  But Tyrion was in no position to fulfill Jaime’s promise.  The best he could do was speak to Jon and Daenerys on Bronn’s behalf, and he would, but not in the middle of his wedding feast.

Tyrion refocused his attention on Sansa.  She and Arya were laughing at something Jon had said, and Tyrion was sorry that he wasn’t in on the joke.  But even though he had not been included in their revelry, he was still relieved to see Sansa laughing.  Although he had no trouble making her laugh in private, it was rare that he ever saw her let her guard down in anyone else’s company.  Now that the war was over and she was safe and secure and happily married, her icy exterior was finally beginning to thaw.  Tyrion was starting to see traces of the girl she had once been peeking out around her rougher edges, and it brought him a quiet kind of joy.  Seeing Sansa happy made him happy, and he couldn’t help but smile every time he looked at her.

Tyrion suddenly felt like he was being watched, and he tore his eyes away from his bride to find Arya staring at him.  She was slouched against the back of her chair, her expression as impassive as ever, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes that a less seasoned observer might have missed. 

“Apparently,” she began, her words obviously meant for Jon, but her eyes never leaving Tyrion’s, “my sister isn’t the only one who’s acting like a lovesick fool.”

Jon laughed.  “I think he’s even more lovesick than Sansa.  Just look at him, grinning like an idiot.”

“You’re a fine one to talk, Jon Snow,” Tyrion said, comfortable enough with his new brother-in-law to address him so informally.  “In less than a fortnight, you’ll be in my position, and then we can all laugh at you as you fawn over your own bride.”

A light blush crept into Jon’s cheeks, and Tyrion fought the urge to laugh.  Jon was going to be ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and yet, he still had a softness to him, an earnestness, that separated him from every other man who had ever sat on the Iron Throne.  His compassion was going to make him a great king, even if he didn’t know it yet.  He would be a kind and sympathetic ruler, a king who cared more about his people than his power or his purse. 

“I will not fawn over my bride,” Jon said.  “I shall look upon her with all the love and respect she deserves.”

Tyrion opened his mouth to reply, but Arya beat him to it.  “And the moment the ceremony’s over, you’ll steal her away and fuck her senseless, just like Tyrion intends to do to Sansa.”

“Arya!” Sansa scolded, a note of shock in her voice.

Tyrion looked up at Sansa and saw that her cheeks were almost as red as her hair.  Arya had clearly embarrassed her, and she refused to take it without protest.

But Arya just laughed.  “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?  That’s all anyone ever thinks about around here these days.  Now that the war’s over, you’ll all be pushing out babies before summer even comes.  Maybe we need another war to stop all of you from acting like such lovesick fools.”

“Or maybe,” Sansa said, leaning closer to her sister, “you just need to find the right someone to turn you into a lovesick fool.”

“Never!” Arya exclaimed, finally sitting up in her chair.  “I will never fall in love, and I will never get married.  I’ll never end up like any of you.”

Tyrion cast a furtive glance toward the other side of the table where Gendry Waters was pretending to listen to Samwell Tarly talk about his time at the Wall.  But it was obvious to anyone who had eyes that Gendry’s attention was fully focused on the girl sitting opposite him.  Tyrion knew that Arya and Gendry had escaped King’s Landing together a lifetime ago, that they had once been friends.  He suspected that Gendry wanted to be more than friends now, but that Arya’s feelings about love and marriage were keeping him silent on the matter.  Tyrion suddenly felt sorry for the boy.  He’d lost the Iron Throne – not that he’d ever really seemed to want it – and now, he was about to lose the girl he loved as well.

“You say that now—” Sansa began, but Arya didn’t give her a chance to finish.

“It’s true now, and it will always be true.  I swear it.  I would rather join the Kingsguard and take a vow of celibacy than ever take a husband.  That way, I could do something worthwhile with my life instead of raising babies and running a household.”

Tyrion looked at Sansa again, only to find that her expression had soured.  She’d obviously taken her sister’s words as a personal insult, even though it was obvious that Arya hadn’t meant them that way.

Without a second thought, Tyrion reached beneath the table – Bronn’s warning be damned – and took Sansa’s hand in his own.  Her expression instantly softened, and she exhaled a shallow sigh. 

“I just want you to be happy,” Sansa said, her words kinder than they would have been if Tyrion had not intervened, “that’s all.”

“Well, love and marriage are never going to make me happy, and all of you are just going to have to learn to live with it.”

Sansa nodded, though Tyrion could see that it pained her to do so.  She was so in love that she wanted all the world to be in love, but she had to accept the fact that Arya had chosen a decidedly different path.

Arya tossed her napkin onto the table and rose.  “I think I’ve had enough talk of love and marriage for one night.”  She turned to Sansa.  “I do wish you all the happiness in the world.  You and Tyrion.”  She briefly glanced in his direction before turning back to her sister.  “Although life as a wife and mother isn’t for me, nothing suits you more.  Mother and Father would be proud.”

Sansa slipped her hand from Tyrion’s and was on her feet in an instant.  She pulled Arya into her arms, and they hugged each other tightly.

“Thank you,” Sansa whispered, so softly that Tyrion was certain only he and Arya had heard.  “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Arya pulled away then and turned toward Jon.  “If you would excuse me, _Your Grace_ ,” she said with a hint of a smile, the words clearly meant to tease.

Jon nodded his approval, and Arya quickly made her escape.  A moment later, Gendry stood, making up some silly excuse about needing to visit the privy, and quickly followed after her.  Tyrion didn’t envy the boy in the least.  Arya Stark was determined not to be won.  It was going to take more than a few well-chosen words and smoldering glances to get her to change her mind.  Tyrion wondered if Gendry would have to beat her in one-on-one combat just to steal a kiss.  He almost laughed at the thought, silently pitying the boy again.

Once Gendry was gone, Sansa finally returned to her chair, her hand instantly finding Tyrion’s again.  She turned to look at him, offering him a secret, almost desperate smile.  He knew she wanted them to make their escape as well.  They had already spent far too long in the company of others that evening.  It was finally time for them to be alone.

“Well,” Tyrion said, his eyes never leaving Sansa’s, “if the festivities are almost at an end, I think it is time that my wife and I retire for the evening.”

“Retire,” Bronn asked, “or go back to her bedchamber to fuck like wildlings?”

There was a great roar of laughter from around the table, and Sansa’s cheeks turned a darker shade of red. 

Tyrion finally dragged his eyes away from hers and glared at Ser Bronn.  “I thought you were concerned about offending all the ladies present.”

Bronn shrugged. “Figured if Lady Arya could use that word, so could I.  So, I’ll ask you again, are you taking your lady wife back to her bedchamber to fuck like wildlings?”

Tyrion didn’t dare look in Sansa’s direction again.  He couldn’t bear to see the look of embarrassment on her face.  Instead, he replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ser Bronn.  My wife is a pillar of womanly virtue, and I would never do anything to disgrace her in such a manner.”

“Yeah, and if that’s true, then I’m the High Septon.” 

There was more laughter from the other guests, but Tyrion ignored it.  “Well, since the explosion at the Great Sept of Baelor left the position vacant, it’s nice of you to volunteer your services.”

Bronn laughed.  “Don’t get any ideas.  You’re not getting out of getting me that castle.  Understood?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Tyrion said, dismissing Bronn’s concerns with a wave of his hand.  “Now, if no one minds, we shall be going.”  Tyrion climbed from his chair, his hand never leaving Sansa’s as he helped her to her feet.  He turned to look at Daenerys at the far end of the table.  There was amusement in her eyes.  “Your Grace?”

“Go,” she said, “enjoy your wedding night, Lord Tyrion.  Just don’t enjoy it too much.”  And had they not been surrounded by a roomful of people, he knew she would have laughed.  But as it was, she was doing her best to maintain her dignity even though they were among friends.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

Tyrion turned to look at Jon, silently asking for his approval.

“Have a good night, both of you,” he said, keeping his own amusement in check, no doubt hoping to ease Sansa’s embarrassment.

Tyrion didn’t even give Sansa a chance to reply.  He turned away from the table and led her to the door.  They left the room without another word and headed straight to her bedchamber.

 


	5. One Flesh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the last chapter and Sansa and Tyrion’s wedding night. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and comment! Your support and encouragement are truly appreciated! And again, thank you to KatMorgan and VickSaturn, who gave me the idea in the first place.
> 
> If anyone is interested in what happened between Arya and Gendry after he followed her out of Sansa’s solar, I will be posting a rather lengthy one-shot sometime this week that will answer that question. I don’t have a title yet, but it should be up before the next episode airs. Please feel free to subscribe to me if you want to know when it posts or just keep checking back here. Although Arya is determined never to fall in love, Gendry just might change her mind.

Sansa’s heart raced beneath her breast as she and Tyrion reached her chamber, their hands still clasped between them.  She was giddy with excitement even though they had spent the past fortnight making love to each other every time they’d had the chance.  But tonight was different.  Tonight was their wedding night, the night Sansa had dreamed of since she was a little girl.  Of course, as a little girl, she had imagined her future husband very differently, but she had no regrets.  She loved Tyrion, and she found him irresistibly handsome.  Had the most dashing knight in all of Westeros arrived at the gate that very evening, she would have turned him away without a second thought.  She had already found her prince, and she wanted no other.

Tyrion opened the chamber door, finally releasing Sansa’s hand so that she could enter the room.  Once they were both inside, he closed the door behind them and turned to look up at her.

For a moment, they just stood there staring at each other across the silent room.  The desire in Tyrion’s eyes was unmistakable, so deep and dark that it took Sansa’s breath away.  All she wanted was to fall to her knees and kiss him senseless, but she could barely move.  She was simply too overcome with emotion.

It took a great deal of effort for Sansa to finally speak.  “I suppose you’d like some wine to toast our union.”

Tyrion shook his head.  “No, my lady.  Wine isn’t what I crave tonight, and I think you know it.”

Sansa didn’t even try to fight the smile that tugged at her lips.  She knew what Tyrion wanted.  It was the same thing she wanted.  “Do I?” she asked, playing coy.

“Oh, yes, my lady wife.  I think you do.” 

Tyrion moved forward, closing the distance between them and reaching up to take her hand.  His eyes steady with hers, he ran his thumb across the back of her hand in small, tantalizing circles, causing a familiar warmth to spiral down Sansa’s spine.  Then, without a word, he lifted her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently, and Sansa’s breath caught in her throat.

When Tyrion finally lowered her hand, he said, “Do you know what I regret?”

Sansa was surprised by the question.  Everything was so perfect between them that she couldn’t imagine what Tyrion could possibly regret.  “What is it?” she asked, curious to know what he was thinking.

He took a step closer, covering her hand with both of his.  “I regret that you and I didn’t get to declare ourselves tonight with the words used in the Faith of the Seven.  Although the northern tradition is quite moving in its own right, it’s not the same as being able to declare that we belong to each other the way they do in the south.”

“How very sentimental of you, my lord husband,” she said with a half smile.

“Well, I can’t help it.  I’ve always been a hopeless romantic myself.”

Sansa laughed, and Tyrion grinned up at her.  The first time they had been wed, in the Great Sept of Baelor, the ceremony had meant nothing to either one of them.  It had been an ordeal, an obligation.  Nothing more.  The words they had spoken before the High Septon had seemed meaningless then, but now, everything had changed.  Now, Sansa wished she could take those vows again and mean them this time.  She wished it as much as Tyrion did.

“Would you like to take those vows here?” Sansa asked, not the least bit fearful that he might think her foolish.

“Here?”

“Yes, here.”

“But we have no septon.”

Sansa fought back a laugh.  “We’ve already been married twice.  I don’t think we need a septon.”

Tyrion broke her gaze, his eyes settling on the hands clasped between them, his brow furrowed with concern.  “We’ll need some kind of cloth to bind our hands.”

“Don’t worry,” Sansa said.  “I have just what we need.” 

Gently, she removed her hand from Tyrion’s and reached up to untie one of the ribbons in her hair.  She pulled it loose, a few crimson locks escaping her elaborate coiffure and cascading down her back.  Then, she fell to her knees, wanting to be closer to her husband as they said their vows.

Sansa reached out to Tyrion again, offering him her right hand.  He held out his left, allowing her to place her hand on top of his.  Then, she draped the white ribbon lightly across both.

“I suppose,” Tyrion said, “this is the part where the septon says something like, _In the sight of the Seven,_ _I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity_.”

“Yes, I believe that’s exactly what he says.”

Sansa took one end of the ribbon, and Tyrion took the other.  Together, they wrapped it over their hands, mimicking the movements of the absent septon. 

“And then,” Sansa continued, “he would say, _Look upon one another and say the words_.”

Tyrion’s hand tensed beneath hers as if he was longing to take her hand in his own, and Sansa offered him a secret smile.  As one, they began to recite the vows of the Faith of the Seven, Tyrion’s warm voice resonating deep inside Sansa’s heart as he spoke the words, “Father, Smith, Warrior.  Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.  I am hers, and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

Once the vows were spoken, they stared at each other across the silence, savoring the beauty of the moment.  The love in Tyrion’s eyes made Sansa’s heart ache.  She loved him so much, wanted him so much.  They belonged to each other, just as they always had, just as they always would, from this day until the end of their days.

“I believe,” Tyrion said, his voice thick with emotion, “that this is the part where we seal our vows with a kiss.”

“Not yet,” Sansa replied, reluctant to deny him anything but wanting to conduct the ceremony properly.

Tyrion raised a brow in question.  “Not yet?”

“First, the septon would unbind our hands.”  Sansa took one end of the ribbon, and Tyrion instinctively reached for the other.  As they removed the long strip of silk, she began to speak the words, “ _Let it be known that Sansa of House Stark and Tyrion of House Lannister are one heart, one flesh, one soul.  Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder._ ”

The ribbon slipped from their hands, pooling against Sansa’s upturned palm.  She stared at Tyrion, suddenly unable to speak, her own words echoing through her mind with startling clarity.  _Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder._   The High Septon had spoken those same words at their first wedding, but at the time, they had seemed meaningless.  Now, she wondered if the gods had indeed heeded the High Septon’s prayer.  Everyone who had ever plotted to tear them apart, everyone who had ever come between them, had already met a dire fate.  Joffrey, Cersei, Littlefinger, Ramsay.  Everyone.  They were all gone now, but Tyrion and Sansa had survived as if the gods themselves had orchestrated their union from the very beginning.

Tyrion must have sensed the change in her because he suddenly asked, “Are you all right?”

Sansa nodded, a small smile gracing her lips.  “I am now.”

“Well, then, does that mean that we get to kiss now?” Tyrion asked, a hopeful lilt to his voice.

Sansa exhaled a relieved sigh, almost laughing at Tyrion’s earnest enthusiasm.  “Once you say the words, yes.”

“The words?”

Now, Sansa did laugh.  “Don’t you know how this ceremony goes?”

“I may be a hopeless romantic, but I’m not an adolescent girl.  I haven’t had the entire wedding ceremony memorized since I was in my crib.”

Sansa fought back a knowing smirk.  The truth was, she’d had the entire ceremony memorized since earliest childhood, and she knew it word for word, just like a lovesick little girl.  “The words, my lord, are, _With this kiss, I pledge my love._ ”

Tyrion’s lips curled into a smile.  “Is that all?”

“Yes.  Now, hurry up and say them so we can be properly wed.”

Tyrion’s grin widened.  “With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

Sansa didn’t wait for Tyrion to kiss her.  The instant the words passed his lips, she leaned into him, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck and drawing him closer.  She kissed him softly, sweetly, and Tyrion sighed in contentment, just as happy to be her husband as she was to be his wife.

When she finally pulled back, she gazed into his eyes, once again finding them dark with desire. 

“Please tell me that the ceremony is over,” Tyrion said, his voice painfully tight.  “I don’t think I can wait another moment to take you to bed.”

Sansa smiled at him lovingly.  “The ceremony is over, my lord.  Now, there is nothing left to do but consummate our union.”

The relief in Tyrion’s eyes was unmistakable.  “Oh, thank the gods!”  He reached up, entwining his fingers in her hair and pulling her even closer.  He kissed her deeply, his tongue parting her lips and delving into her warmth.

Sansa sighed into his mouth, the ribbon slipping from her fingers as she began pulling at his clothing with both her hands.  Tyrion’s own fingers fumbled at the ties that held her gown together, and for the first time that evening, Sansa was sorry that she’d worn such an elaborate dress.  She knew it was going to take forever to get out of it, and all she really wanted was to be naked already. 

Sansa could feel Tyrion’s frustration just as acutely as she felt her own.  Determined to move things along as quickly as possible, she reluctantly broke the kiss.  When her eyes met Tyrion’s again, she found him staring back at her in silent desperation.  She took a moment to catch her breath, then, her eyes locked with his, she moved her hands to his doublet and began working the fasteners that held it closed. 

“I see my wife is eager to see me naked,” Tyrion said hoarsely.

Sansa blushed even though she knew it was absurd.  She had seen him naked a dozen times before, and she knew she had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about now.  But she blushed just the same, suddenly feeling very much like a maid.

Sansa didn’t answer him.  She just continued to stare into his eyes as she worked on his clothing.  Once the last fastener gave way, she pushed his doublet down over his shoulders and let it drop to the floor.  Then, she sat back on her heels and worked on pulling off his boots.

Tyrion placed one hand on her shoulder and leaned against her for support as she removed them, one at a time.  As soon as she was done, she sat up again and began untying his breeches.

“You know,” he said, as she concentrated all her attention on the cord at his waist, “you’re getting very good at this.”

“That’s because I had a very good teacher,” she replied as she slowly pushed his breeches over his hips and down his legs. 

Tyrion stepped out of his breeches and kicked them aside.  The instant he was free of them, Sansa reached for the hem of his tunic and quickly pulled it up and over his head.  She discarded it on the floor beside the rest of his clothing, her eyes focused on his.

Tyrion reached up, snaking his hand behind her head and pulling her close.  He kissed her hard, and Sansa moaned as a rush of warmth pooled between her legs.  She was more than ready for him now, but she was still hindered by her gown.

Desperate to be free of her clothing, Sansa pulled away, ending the kiss.  She tore her eyes from Tyrion’s and concentrated on the ties that bound her dress together.  She would have waited for Tyrion to help her, but her fingers were more nimble than his and she knew she could free herself a lot faster than he ever could.

Sansa felt Tyrion watching her as she worked to rid herself of her gown.  Her skin flushed warmly, and her fingers fumbled as her desire for him intensified.  She wanted to look at him again but knew it would only make things more difficult.  So instead, she concentrated even harder on the task at hand, finally undoing the ties and slipping the gown from her shoulders.

Knowing that she couldn’t fully undress kneeling on the floor, Sansa finally stood, shedding her smallclothes as quickly as she could.  It was only when she was finally naked that she looked down at Tyrion again.  He was staring up at her in silent wonder, and her heart surged with love for him.

Sansa leaned down, taking his head between her hands and kissing him softly.  When she finally let him go, she walked to the bed and sat above the covers, waiting for him to join her.

Without a word, Tyrion crossed the room and climbed up onto the bed.  He sat beside her atop the furs, looking up at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms.

The love and admiration in his eyes nearly brought Sansa to tears.

“What’s wrong?” Tyrion asked.

She shook her head.  “Nothing’s wrong.  I’ve just never been happier.”

A shy smile pulled at Tyrion’s lips.  “Neither have I.”

Sansa leaned forward and kissed him again, but this time, she refused to let him go.  She drew Tyrion down onto the bed, encouraging him to lie on his back as she began to explore his body with her hands and her mouth.  Although Tyrion had been in her bed many times before, she still found each new encounter more thrilling than the last.  She loved Tyrion Lannister more than she had ever imagined she could love another person, and everything about him excited her.  He was the most desirable man she had ever known, and she would spend the rest of her life wanting him just as much as she wanted him now.

Sansa kissed his neck, his chest, his stomach, forging a bold path southward.  She was no longer an untried virgin.  Tyrion had taught her a great many things during their time together, including how to please him. 

She moved even lower, repositioning herself on the bed so that she could lie down and take her time enjoying him.  She lay flat on her stomach, her legs bent upward, her ankles casually crossed in the air above her, as she reached out and skimmed her fingers down the length of his shaft.

Tyrion inhaled a startled breath, and Sansa looked up to find him watching her intently. 

“Do you like that?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded.  “Very much.”

“Would you like more?”

“Yes, please.”  The words were barely a whisper.

Sansa turned her attention back to his manhood, gliding her fingers over his silken flesh with practiced ease.  Every time she touched him, he made a new and wondrous sound, and Sansa enjoyed every moment of it.  But soon, it wasn’t enough.

When she could no longer resist the temptation, Sansa dipped her head forward and kissed the tip of his shaft.

Tyrion swore violently, and Sansa couldn’t help but smile.  She knew what he liked.  He had taught her very well.

Sansa lowered her head even farther, taking more of him into her mouth.  She swirled her tongue around his heated flesh, then gently sucked as she slowly pulled back.  Before she released him, she flicked her tongue across the tip of his manhood, knowing it would drive him mad.

Tyrion groaned, the sound low and guttural, almost animalistic, and Sansa knew she was doing everything right.

She forged a trail of wet, hot kisses from the tip of his shaft to the base, and then kissed her way back up the other side.  She flicked her tongue out again, tasting the little bead of moisture that always accompanied his arousal, the taste so familiar to her now that it felt like home.  Then, she lowered her head once more, taking him all the way in, and Tyrion swore again.

Sansa fought the urge to laugh.  It wasn’t often that Tyrion Lannister lost control, but when he did, it was quite gratifying.  He was one of the most powerful men in all of Westeros, and certainly the cleverest, and yet, when they were alone like this, she had complete command of his heart, mind, and body.  She took great pride in being able to please him.  He was her husband, and there was nothing that she loved more than making him happy. 

Sansa took her time pleasuring him, worshipping his manhood as if it were a gift from the gods.  She teased him with her mouth, doing all the things she knew he loved, until he was squirming beneath her.  She could have stayed that way forever, enjoying the taste of him on her lips, making him blissfully happy, but Tyrion had other ideas.  Far too soon, he was begging her to stop, and Sansa had no choice but to relent. 

Finally, she pulled back, kissing a path northward along his stomach and up his chest until she reached his mouth.  Then, she straddled him, took his face between her hands, and kissed him passionately.

Tyrion entwined his fingers in her hair, pulling her even closer as his tongue swept into her mouth.  With expert grace, he maneuvered her down onto her back so that he could take control.  He broke away from her for one breathless moment and said, “Did you really think I was going to let you have all the fun?”

Sansa giggled.  “And I thought you were the one having all the fun, my lord.  If I’m wrong, perhaps I wasn’t doing it right and I should try again.”  She shoved lightly at his shoulders, as if she intended to push him onto his back again, but it was a halfhearted effort, just meant to tease.

“Oh, no,” Tyrion said.  “You’ve had your chance.  Now, it’s my turn.”  The mischievous glint in his eyes promised glorious things to come.

He kissed her lips one more time before moving to her neck, sucking and kissing and nipping at her flesh.  Sansa was certain there would be a mark there in the morning, and she’d have to hide it with a high-necked gown, but she didn’t care.  She was Tyrion’s, and he was hers, and he could mark her all he wanted.

Sansa threaded her fingers through his hair as he moved lower, his hands caressing her body as his mouth scorched her flesh.  When he reached her breasts, he took one eager bud into his mouth while his fingers toyed with the other one, applying just enough pressure to make her whimper with need.  She wasn’t the only one who had learned a thing or two in the past fortnight.  Tyrion had learned what she liked as well, and he knew exactly how to touch her.

A rush of warmth pulsed between Sansa’s legs, and she arched her hips upward, desperate for contact.  But Tyrion stayed just beyond her reach, refusing to give her what she wanted.  They had both waited a long time for this night, their whole lives, in fact, and she knew Tyrion was determined to make it last as long as possible. 

Tyrion chuckled softly, clearly amused by her attempt to take what she wanted without his permission.  “Eager, aren’t you?” he mumbled as he kissed a path to her other breast.

“I want you,” Sansa said, the words so low and deep they sounded as if they were spoken by a stranger.  “Soon, Tyrion.  Please.”

“Soon enough,” he said, looking up just long enough to catch her eye before turning back to his work.  He pulled her nipple into his mouth and began to suck on it gently, while his fingers tweaked its match.

Sansa threw her head back and moaned wantonly, knowing that there was no arguing with him.  He would give her what she wanted when he was good and ready, and not a moment sooner.

Tyrion took his time lavishing her breasts with attention.  When he was finally prepared to move on, he broke away, trailing kisses across her ribs and down her stomach.  Then, he moved lower still, taking a meandering path toward her sex, kissing down the length of one thigh and up the other, until Sansa was begging for mercy.

Finally, Tyrion put his hands on her knees and urged her legs farther apart.  He settled himself between them, lowering his head just enough to dip his tongue between her folds.

Sansa cried out in the most exquisite agony, her hands gripping the furs as her body tensed with anticipation.

Tyrion took his time playing with her, and she knew he was enjoying every minute of it.  He kissed her between her legs the way he had kissed her mouth, with great care and tenderness.  He ran his tongue along the length of her, then flicked it against the little nub at the apex of her sex, making her buck her hips upward. 

Tyrion chuckled as he put one hand against her hip and gently eased her back onto the bed.  He continued to pleasure her, sucking at the little nub and nearly pushing her over the edge.

“Please, Tyrion.  Please.”  The words were strangled from her throat.

Tyrion lifted his head, and Sansa looked down at him again.  The longing in his eyes was unmistakable, and she knew even he could not hold out forever. 

“What do you want, my lady wife?” he asked, his voice warm and husky.

“You, my lord husband.  You.”

A slow smile spread across Tyrion’s lips, and Sansa knew he was finally going to give her what she wanted.

He raised himself up onto his knees and crawled forward, repositioning himself between her legs.  He leaned closer, clearly desperate to kiss her, and Sansa sat up, meeting him halfway.  She wrapped her hands behind his neck, pulling him close and kissing him deeply, tasting her own sweetness on his lips.  Tyrion groaned, leaning into her, kissing her with a passion that took her breath away.

It was difficult for Sansa to remember a time when she hadn’t wanted Tyrion Lannister.  It seemed as if she’d loved him and wanted him her entire life.  She couldn’t imagine ever having been so foolish as to want anyone else.  He was her entire world, and she loved him more than she could ever have loved any charming knight or handsome prince.

When Tyrion finally broke the kiss, he pulled back just far enough to stare into her eyes, his breath fluttering against her lips.  Sansa felt as if she could drown in his eyes, they were so dark with desire, so deep and fathomless.

Unable to stop herself, she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss against his lips.  Tyrion sighed into her mouth, and it was nearly her undoing.

A moment later, Tyrion pulled away, moving far beyond her reach this time.  But even as he retreated, he kept his eyes locked with hers, no more able to break away from her than she was able to break away from him. 

He repositioned himself between her legs, his manhood hot and hard at her entrance.  Sansa raised her hips just enough to coax the tip of his shaft between her folds, moaning at the contact.  Tyrion leaned over her, steadying himself on the bed, before he pushed his hips forward, thrusting inside.

Sansa gasped as Tyrion drove into her.  It was exactly what she had asked for, exactly what she had wanted, and it felt glorious!  She kept her gaze steady with his as he began to move above her, raising her hips to meet his with each thrust, driving him deeper and deeper. 

Tyrion growled like a wild animal, and Sansa was certain she sounded much the same to him.  She couldn’t stop the noises pouring from her throat, nor did she want to.  She wanted Tyrion Lannister more than anything, and she didn’t care who knew it.

Sansa raised her legs, putting her feet flat on the mattress, allowing him to fill her even more deeply.  Tyrion quickened the pace, his movements becoming more frantic, less refined.  She could tell he was close, but then, so was she.  She didn’t know how much longer she could last.

With a mournful sob, Sansa broke Tyrion’s gaze, closing her eyes and biting her bottom lip as all the muscles in her body tensed in anticipation of the ecstasy to come.  She gripped the furs even tighter as Tyrion continued to move within her.  A few more thrusts and—

Sansa suddenly crashed over the edge, her body shuddering with pleasure, her walls pulsing around him.  A delicious warmth spread through her limbs as she sank deeper into the mattress.  Although Tyrion had made love to her just the night before, this time was different.  Whether it was the blessings of the old gods or just the romance of their wedding, something had intensified the connection between them, and Sansa had never felt closer to him.  Even as Tyrion continued to move within her, she felt, not like a separate person, but like a part of him. 

_I am his, and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days._

It wasn’t long before Tyrion found his own release.  Her name tore from his throat as he spilled his seed deep inside her.  Every time they were together like this, Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if this time his seed would take root.  And every time, she prayed and hoped that it would.  There was nothing she wanted more than to bear Tyrion’s children, to fill the yard with little wolves and lions and bring Winterfell back to life again.

Tyrion withdrew from her warmth before collapsing on top of her, his breathing ragged, his body covered in sweat.  Sansa wrapped her arms around him and held him close, one hand cradling his back, the other playing with the damp curls at the nape of his neck.  She was just as spent as he was, and she was perfectly content to simply hold him close and feel his breath caressing her bare skin.

They lay there for the longest time, both barely able to breathe, much less speak.  Sansa’s heart was so full of love that she knew if she were to die right then and there, she would die happy.  Everything felt so right.  Tyrion felt so right.  He was everything she had always hoped for, and her only regret was that she hadn’t realized it sooner.

When his breathing had finally settled, Tyrion pulled back, just far enough to look up at her, and Sansa opened her eyes, meeting his gaze.

He shook his head in quiet disbelief.  “You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.  “So beautiful.”

“So are you,” Sansa replied, raising her hand to his cheek.

A cynical half smile quirked Tyrion’s lips.  “You, my dear, sweet Sansa, almost make me believe it.”

“You should believe it because it’s true.”

He laughed.  “How can I argue with such a beautiful woman?”

Sansa knew he still believed he was an ugly dwarf, the demon monkey the people of King’s Landing had once mocked and feared.  It wasn’t true though, and she wasn’t going to relent until he finally started to believe the truth about himself.  She’d keep telling him how beautiful and wonderful he was every day for the rest of their lives if that’s what it took to make him believe it. 

Tyrion lowered his head and placed a single kiss between her breasts.  When he looked up at her again, he said, “Are you sure you’ve done the right thing here tonight?  Are you sure you won’t live to regret this?”

“You were already my husband,” Sansa replied, her tone light, teasing.  “I really had no choice in the matter.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.  I suppose you could have asked your sister to quietly do away with me while no one was looking.  Then, you could have found yourself a more suitable husband.”

Sansa smiled knowingly.  “I could not have found myself a more suitable husband in all the world, I promise you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.  I love you, Tyrion Lannister, and there is no other man I’d rather have in my heart or in my bed.”

Tyrion chuckled.  “Well, yes, I am quite gifted in the bedchamber, aren’t I?”

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh.  She swatted his arm playfully with her hand.  “No one likes a braggart.”

“Even when he has every reason to brag?”

Sansa refused to dignify that with a response.  “And what about me?” she asked.

“You are quite gifted in the bedchamber as well.  But then, I taught you everything you know.”

She swatted his arm again.  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Oh, what did you mean?”

“Do you love me too?”  Sansa already knew the answer, of course.  He had told her that he loved her a hundred times in the last fortnight, but she wanted to hear him say it again before they both drifted off to sleep.

“Hmm,” Tyrion said thoughtfully.  He broke her gaze, looking around idly as if searching the air for an answer.  “I suppose so.  I mean husbands are supposed to love their wives, aren’t they?”

“Would you like me to hit you again?” Sansa asked, half serious, half in jest.

Tyrion met her gaze once more.  There was a sparkle in his eyes that was pure mischief.  “You know, some men like that.”

“What?”

He laughed again.  “Nothing.  A lesson for another day.  Now, what was the question again?”

Had Sansa loved him any less, she might have struck him a third time.  But as it was, she absolutely adored him and she thought he was being terribly endearing, even if he was purposefully trying to frustrate her.  “Do you love me?”

“I suppose I must.  I did marry you twice, after all.”

Now, she did hit him.

“Ow!” he exclaimed in mock pain.  “All right, all right, I love you, Sansa Stark.  More than I have ever loved anyone or anything in all my life.  Are you happy now?”

Sansa didn’t even attempt to hide her joy.  “Yes, Tyrion, I am.”

“Then show me how happy you are.”

Gently but firmly, Sansa eased Tyrion off of her so that he could lie on his side next to her.  Then, she turned to face him, taking his head between her hands and kissing him tenderly.

When she finally pulled away, she said, “That is how happy I am, Tyrion Lannister.  So happy that I could spend the rest of my life loving you.”

He cleared his throat, struggling to speak.  “Well, my lady, I certainly wouldn’t object to that.”

Sansa leaned in and kissed him again, taking her time showing him just how very much he meant to her.  When at last she broke the kiss, she saw so much love in his eyes that her heart swelled with happiness. 

Tyrion shifted onto his back, encouraging her to join him.  “Come, my love, let me hold you until the gods grant me the strength to love you again.”

Sansa snuggled up against Tyrion’s side, resting her head on his shoulder.  She knew he would make good on his promise.  They would sleep for a while, but before the night was through, he would love her again and again, until dawn came creeping into their room.

Tyrion wrapped his arms around her, one hand lovingly caressing her hair, the other gently stroking her bare arm.  “Thank you, Sansa,” he said quietly.  “Thank you for loving me so.”

“I could love no other.”

Tyrion’s arms tightened around her.  “Good night, my sweet, lady wife.”

“Good night, my lord husband.”

And then, they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, a joyous future awaiting them.


End file.
